Turn around, Molly Hooper
by Xmarksthespot
Summary: Molly Hooper attempts to fall out of love with Sherlock Holmes. —Molly& Tom; Molly&Sherlock (unrequited) Spoilers for The Empty Hearse & The Sign of Three.


**Title**: Turn around, Molly Hooper.  
**By**: Xmarksthespot  
**Disclaimer**: That first scene in 3x01 would've been the actual event, rather than a theory if I owned this; sigh.  
**Notes**: Erm, so something I wrote spontaneously. First time in this fandom...not quite sure if what I wrote even makes sense (it was pretty late at night).

Also: **spoilers**. This story is split into three parts: first section goes through post 2x03, second section spoils 3x01, third section spoils 3x02

**X-X-X-**

Turn around, Molly tells herself. There's no one here.

(Tom asks her out and she says yes, and it's not because of the way his eyes crinkle whenever he smiles, or the way he runs his fingers through his hair before shaking it wildly, which so easily reminds her of _him_).

She tells herself that for a while—a _long_ while—she really did (almost) succeed in forgetting _him_, because for a good amount of time, no doors had swung open at the morgue where she works (except for one time when Tom surprised her and she _swears_ the skip of her heartbeat was not because she had mistaken her now-fiancé for _someone else_).

She tells herself that the similarities between Tom and _him_—she can't say his name, she can't, she can't—are coincidental, and really, are only there if one squints. Their hair, their cheekbones, their sense of style…No. Any fashionable man in London would style his hair in such a way—the scarf and that coat and those shoes are worn by many. Molly knows this; she and Tom venture along the streets a lot, and it's only because he insists on the health benefits of fresh air and not because of what the morgue reminds her of.

(Tom proposes and she says yes. She tells herself she really does love this non-sociopathic man, and not because she's given up all hope on true love and fairy tales and _what-ifs_).

She tells herself that she's forgotten about _that man_.

.

.

.

_He_ comes back

.

.

All those lies she tells herself come back tenfold, hitting her square in the chest and stings the corners of her eyes.

.

.

.

Turn around, she tells herself and there he is: The Dead Man. She can no longer simply _forget_ and put him in the _past_. There he is, grinning mischievously and accepting life back in London as if nothing has ever changed. But it _has_ changed, she wants to say, and the glittering jewel on her finger is enough proof that things are different.

(Tom asks her for a night out with him, but she declines, not because for the first time in a long time she gets to spend the day with _him_ and because _he_ _asked her to_, but because she has a _friend_ in need of companionship and Tom is understanding of that).

Molly writes notes frantically on the side, knowing she cannot keep up with the master detective who, after so many years away from Scotland Yard, can still read her like the open book she's so desperately tried to close. She takes the opportunity of spending all that time with him to find as many flaws as she can—all the differences, subtle or not, between _him_ and Tom because she was _so _close to forget about him; his appearance back at Baker Street _cannot_ be enough of a reason to pull back all those blasted emotions.

She gulps and admits he doesn't have a filter on his mouth. Of course he doesn't—he never has had one, and she should know, being at the end of so many insults in previous occasions. And perhaps he's a bit too pale, and a bit too standoffish. It upsets her when he scowls, and she hates it that he's forgotten her presence (and everyone else's) when he's wrapped up in a case—she has never seen that much passion in anyone else before, the ferocity in his eyes, the excitement that radiates off of him, the…

Turn around, she tells herself, and don't let yourself fall in love with him again.

Anything that _could have been_ is over when _he_ tells her he knows of her engagement. She knows it's the final stamp on the package, the last time she should ever think _what-if_. Like a verbal contract, they've both admitted it now and there's _no going back_. She cannot undo her words, and he—leaning in ever so slowly, with a final peck onto her cheek like it's a _farewell_ that Molly cannot fathom—and he…

Turn around, she tells herself, but she can't. Not whilst he is walking away, and she notices he looks lonelier than ever. She tells herself it isn't because of her engagement (oh, Molly Hooper, don't be so childish and naïve; it must be John or Lestrade or Mycroft—or _someone else_ that is _not_ her).

And so she proceeds to forget about him again. He comes into the morgue occasionally, just as he used to, with John tailing along, but Molly knows this is different. John is happier, with his best friend in tow and a soon-to-be-wedding. _He_, however, is a lot more confused—Molly can tell, even if he can't; he doesn't know how to react with Mary, with the changes, but he's also more appreciative of life, and he smiles more and compliments her in ways she doesn't ever remember being complimented by him (and for once, it's not to get a bloody cadaver to play with).

(Tom calls her suddenly, and she reminds herself that there is someone else who pays her compliments each and every morning).

.

.

.

"You're so beautiful, Molly Hooper. You're so kind and generous... I'll be the luckiest man alive the day I get to call you my wife."

.

.

"Hm, yes, I see. Your incisions into Mr. Williams' intestinal tract are truly remarkable. Excellent work, Molly! Come John, we have a murder to solve!"

.

.

.

She's dressed in sunlight yellow, and her features are graced with the widest smile anyone has ever seen on her in the longest time. She knows she simply looks ridiculous with the matching ribbon in her hair, but she thinks it's cute. Tom chuckles when she shows herself but there are no words of spite coming out of him, just kisses of adoration.

Since the wedding plans have started, up until that very day of the wedding, her mind comes back to _him_ sometimes, but she quickly diverts the thought into something else. She had called Greg, and Mrs. Hudson, and had learned to focus the thought of _him_ onto more frivolous matters. Molly's almost there, she thinks, almost to the point where she can think of _him_ and know her heartbeats won't reverberate throughout her ribcage with its heavy thumps.

("I can't wait for that to be us," Tom whispers in her ear when Doctor and Mrs. Watson have left the chapel in holy matrimony.

"I can't wait either," she responds, and she tells herself that she means it, and not because it's the correct thing to say).

Greg and Molly had, for the past while, been talking about _his_ Best Man speech, making amusements of things they know are going to happen. And it's only right to stare at _him_ as he makes his speech, so she forces herself to sit through it, just this once. Of course, she should have known he would tell anecdotes of his and John's adventures—it isn't until Tom shuffles in his seat that Molly realizes how engrossed she was in _his_ tales, forgetting the presence of her fiancé next to her. _His_ words they bring her to tears, and she bites her lips as she watches him wholeheartedly, and then—

"Oh no."

"What is it?" Tom asks, glancing at her with concern—the Best Man speech hasn't ended.

Turn around, she tells herself, you're _so_ close, you're almost there; don't let yourself fall once again.

"It's nothing," she murmurs quietly, and pushes her attention to the genius at the front of the room—she knows that look in his eye: the look of someone about to solve a mystery. She knows all of those looks of his; for someone who was a supposed robotic and emotionless man, and she's prideful in knowing that she's one of the few who knows how human he really is.

(Tom squeezes her hand, and she wonders: how many of Tom's looks does she know?)

The song he plays on the violin is beautiful, she thinks later that evening, and knows that everyone thinks so. He's always put in so much work in everything he does—there's never been anything that's been accomplished half-heartedly. Such a beautiful piece of music for a beautiful wedding, played by a beautiful man…

Molly looks up, and watches _him_ socialize with John and Mary. She squints a bit, as everyone around her dances, and tries to picture herself, with her brightly coloured dress, standing next to him and contrasting his dark suit. Her _what-ifs_ come back, if only temporary, and she sees herself chatting amiably with the bride and groom, and she pictures that grin that _he_ adorns facing her and only her. Molly watches the trio and places herself in that group.

(Tom encourages her to dance along, and that image fades. Never going to happen, she tells herself, not because she's engaged, but because she knows _him_ enough to know that it wouldn't).

Turn around, Molly Hooper tells herself one last time; Sherlock Holmes has left the wedding, and in a few months' time, he will leave yours.

.

.

* * *

**A/N:** So I really do think Molly will move on one day, though maybe not completely. She'll spend the rest of her days with Tom, and will eventually think less and less of Sherlock until one day, she won't think of him at all. Sure, when she sees him, her heart will briefly flutter, and her mind will go "what if", but she'll still know that her decision with Tom was best. At least, that's what I think.

* * *

**Edit Jan 12, 2014: (warning, this comment contains spoilers for 3x03): **SCREW WHAT I SAID UP THERE. MOLLY'S NOT WITH TOM. WOOT WOOT.


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